


Serendipity

by hmurya



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1216459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hmurya/pseuds/hmurya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet when they are 16 and 19, and she leaves. They meet when they are 17 and 20, and she leaves again. They meet when they are 20 and 23, and she leaves yet again. They meet when they are 23 and 26, and she leaves never to return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Numinous

  **Numinous /nu-me-nes/: _having a mysterious, holy or spiritual quality._**

_They are 16 and 19 years old._

* * *

_**Regina** _

It's cold. So cold outside and the bus just won't arrive. You stand, waiting forever, inside the bus shelter, leaning against the wall. Sitting just doesn't seem like an option, what with all the layers of clothing. You fold your arms as a harsh gust of wind blows by. And you suddenly miss your home a lot – you miss Kent.

Yes, it rained constantly over there, and some days were gloomy, some too bright, but it was nothing compared to the cruelty that was this weather. You wondered of all the possible places you could choose to be at, why Vancouver. You are lost in your thoughts, when you see a lone figure walk your way rather hurriedly. You try to figure out if it's a man or a woman, but the amount of clothing and not a single visible part of skin makes it hard. So you just follow this figure and their motion.

Their posture is tight, though the shoulders are slumped and head is bent. Their arms are crossed across their chest, much like yours, but constricted. Their hands form a fist, and you realize the tightness is not because of the cold, but something else. Something like hurt. He or she walks right past you, without so much as noticing, and literally drops on the bench. A wince escapes. The sound - you can possibly, safely assume it is a woman.

She sits there for a while, still and silent. Slowly then, very slowly, her fists loosen and she starts to shake a little. Crying.  _Oh God she is crying._  You don't move a muscle, afraid to intrude on this private time. The poor girl probably doesn't even know you are there. So you just shift your gaze back to the road. From the corner of your eye you can see the shaking subside. You clear your throat, just to inform her of your presence. But she seems to be least bothered.

You see her wipe her eyes and nose with her gloved hand. You rummage through your things and offer her what little you can. You tap her shoulder with the tissue box and hold it in front of her. She lifts her head, staring at the box. Then turns to look at you, questioningly so. Her hazel eyes sparkle from the fresh tears, her fair skin red from the cold and crying.

You clear your throat, "I don't usually carry tissue boxes with me. Just coming back from some shopping." You add a smile at the end. Her return smile is an obligatory gesture. She takes a couple of tissues and thanks you. You offer her the whole box, but she refuses. You are just placing the box back into one of the shoppers when a bus finally rolls to a stop. Two people get off, and just as you are about to board, the driver informs that the buses have been cancelled for that day. You very loudly curse inside your head. When the bus moves away, you place your things on the floor and look for your pair of gloves. As you are putting them on, the girl pulls out her phone and makes a call.

"Hey mom. Yea no everything is alright. Listen the buses have been cancelled. So I am going to walk home ok. It will take me some time."

A pause.

"No mom, no don't come. It's not far. I'll make it, don't worry. Ok bye."

Another pause.

"Yea love you too."

She gets up to leave and you offer the box to her again, "For the road." She accepts it this time, thanks you again and makes her way home.

* * *

_**Emma** _

The day just couldn't get any worse. Whoever said  _'when it rains, it pours'_ was a downright genius. You feel a rush of emotions. You want to huff and puff, you want to cry, you want to scream, you want to murder the person who just broke your heart, you want to be loved, you want to be left alone, you just want it all to be the same as it was yesterday.

So you walk, and walk without thinking. You remove your beanie and muffler, you take off your gloves and tuck them all inside your coat pockets. A sudden cold runs down your body but you brave it and try not to flinch. You are sure by the time you get home it will numb you enough to make it all bearable. You cross a signal, and notice a few guys sitting on a park bench. You notice how they are alerted by your presence, so you drop your head and attempt to walk past them. They don't let you.  _Jerks._

"You shouldn't be walking alone in this weather on such empty streets." One of the boy, you guess their 'leader', says.

"None of your god damn business man." You reply as you try to brush past them, because of course they are trying to block as much of the path as possible. "Jesus man. Just move and let me go." You face him, anger welling up inside. Maybe, you decide, it is time to huff and fucking puff.

"Ooo hoo hoo." The boy says, and his friends snigger and cackle. "The girl is trying to be tough."

Thoughts start to formulate as you decide what you should do next, when you hear that same English accent you had just a few minutes before. "Is there a problem here?"

You turn your head and look at her, silently asking her to help you. She gives the smallest of nods and keeps walking towards you.

"Not really. You can move along miss."  _OH! So she is MISS. Jesus these guys._

"I don't think so." She replies. "I can't possibly leave without her." You look at her again as she comes and stand beside you. This time you are asking her to just let it go and move on. You don't want this stranger to get tangled in your mess.

"And why is that?" He asks, folding his arms and shifting his weight on a leg.  _Cocky bastard._

"Because she is my girlfriend." Your eyes almost widen in surprise but stop just in time to not give this façade away. "And I told her mom I would get her home in time. So please, if you don't mind, we would like to get going." She wraps her arm around your waist as she stares down the boy. Something in her demeanour must have done the trick, because the boy moves, making just enough way for you two to get through. She utters a very sarcastic 'thank you' as the two of you squeeze past the gang.

You walk in silence, her arms still around your waist, until the boys are out of sight. She lets her arms drop then, and you wish she hadn't. It felt reassuring.

"You should at least put your gloves back on."

"I'm fine." She doesn't press any further. "And what would you have done if they wouldn't have let us go?"

She shrugs. "I know martial arts."

You chuckle and see the side of her lips curl up. The two of you fall into an easy silence as the walk continues. You want to tell her she doesn't need to, but you appreciate the company. The company of a stranger can do wonders. It allows you to be vulnerable, yet you have no fear of being exploited.

From time to time you let yourself cry. She just walks quietly beside you, an anonymous support. She offers your chocolate at one point and a biscuit at another. You refuse both, and still she doesn't say anything.

You stop on the pavement in front of your house. "This is me. Thank you. For, you know, walking me home."

"Chivalry isn't entirely dead." It makes you smile

"Thanks again."

"My pleasure. Take care of yourself." You start to make your way towards the house, when you hear her say "He's not worth it." You don't turn completely. Just your head to acknowledge her words. "He is not worth your tears. No one is, if they don't respect and appreciate what they have."

"What if it's me?"

"Somehow I doubt that. Just do me a favour ok. Don't cry over him, don't take any decisions based on this hurt. It won't do you any good. Don't let him reduce your worth."

From the corner of your eye you can see her still standing, shifting from one leg to another, probably wondering if more needs to be said, or if you are going to say something. When no one speaks, she starts to leave.

"Her. It's not him, it's her."

She stops just long enough to say, "Doesn't change what I said. Not worth it."

And this stranger, this girl who gave you minor comfort for a while walks away, taking away a part of the pain that was weighing you down. Making you feel a little freer than before.

Strangers eh.


	2. Sillage

**Sillage /see-yazh/:** _**The impression made in space after something or someone has been and gone.** _

_They are 17 and 20 years old._

* * *

_**Emma** _

The bell on the door chimes, alerting you of yet another customer. You are not in the habit of looking up to see who is getting their items tilled, let alone check who has walked into the shop. No one interesting comes at 2 in the morning in a convenience store. And anyways, Harry Dresden fighting a bunch of fallen angels is a lot more interesting. You do, though, keep track of the person through sound. You don't want to get sacked, just because someone decided to rob a convenience store.

The customer comes and stands in front of the counter. You lift a finger, asking them to wait a minute. The chapter is just too interesting to be let go off right now. "Dammit Dresden!" You hit your fist on the counter in frustration, "You need to reach conclusions faster man." You place the bookmark inside and close it.

"Need another box of tissues?" Your eyes shoot up to see the face. It's her. The tissue box girl. It's been a little over a year since you first and last met her - that sad, cold day. She is smiling, clearly amused.

You fumble for the items she has placed on the counter and curse yourself. You don't want this woman to see how much her few words had effected you. How much you have thought of her, and hoped to chance upon her. You try to recover the remainders of your dignity.

"For all you know he could be real, and needs the advice." You look at her again. Her eyes twinkle with delight.

"Yes, a wizard prone to setting things on fire would heed your advice. Absolutely seems likely." You can't believe she has read the books, not a lot of people have. It's a pleasant surprise, one that will ensure you get to talk to her longer, because God knows you have wanted to.

You bill the items as slow as you can without making it look too strange. "I'm still waiting for you to deny his existence."

She shrugs. "No need for the unnecessary."

A hush falls. You keep billing the items while she watches you patiently. You keep dragging the inevitable, without as much as a sigh of complain from her. You like to think that she is enjoying this too.  _Or just being a little too polite._ You hand her the receipt when you are done. While she looks through her bag for her wallet you ask her name.

Her movements cease momentarily. She doesn't reply, and you feel like you have committed a crime. She hands you the money, asks you to keep the change and almost runs out of the store. You stand there, stunned. "What the hell just happened?"

She walks into the store again the next day. Your eyes follow her every movement. You can see she doesn't need to get anything, she already did that yesterday, but she still roams the aisles. "It's getting a little too ridiculous. You walking the aisles like that." A good seven minutes have passed by then. She sighs heavily, picks up a bar of chocolate and walks to the counter. "You don't really need to buy anything. You can just talk. If that is what you want."

She shakes her head, "Gives me a purpose."

"God you are weird." You smile at her. She looks taken aback by your warmth.

"You are not mad at me?" Her words drip with confusion.

"Because you ran out on me just 'cause I asked your name? Nah. You must have a pretty good reason to do so. Though I would have liked it if you wouldn't have run like I was about to set you on fire."

She places her arms on the counter, leaning a little. Her gaze lowers, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so rude."

"It's ok. Does that mean you will tell me your name?"

"Not necessarily." She replies without lifting her gaze.

"Can I know why?"

"Would you mind if I don't tell you?" Her gaze returns to you, an unspoken apology already hanging in them.

It hurts you a little, sure, just not enough to do something that would drive this woman away. "I guess I will survive."

"Thank you, for being so considerate."

"Yea, no problem. So tell me something."

"Anything."

"How hard are you trying right now to not look at my name tag?"

She throws her head back and laughs, "Oh my, so hard. So very, very hard. I think I will give myself a concussion if I try any harder."

"Well then, as a slight punishment, I will leave it on." You feel a little proud, for eliciting that laugh from her, and on some crazy level, for being the one to make things a little hard for her. Hey, you are a rebellious teen. What can you do?

"I was right. You are very considerate. I will leave now."

"You don't have to." She looks straight at you, into your eyes and you feel as if you will. The seriousness, the maturity, the intensity of that look leaves you baffled. You stumble over thoughts, words, letters. But it's her words that rescue you.

"I wish I could. But I really must go. I do sincerely apologize."

All you do is nod. She places a bill on the counter and leaves the store, with a chocolate in hand.

You stand there, yet again stunned. "What the hell just happened?"

She returns the next day and like the previous night, walks through the aisles aimlessly. And just like the other night, you watch her. This time you really take a look at her. You notice how she is the just about the same height as you, how her hair if not tied in a ponytail will almost fall till her lower back, or how her walk and posture are of a woman much older and more developed, but her face has the innocence and softness of a person much younger.

"Your name tag is missing." She points out while skimming over the stacks of chocolate.

Her words break you out of your reverie, "Didn't want to torture you for too long."

"Ah. Such generosity. I am humbled."

"Yes Shakespeare. Thank you."

She laughs, and picks up a packet of Reese. "Oh I wish I was Shakespeare." She places the chocolate and a bill on the counter.

You pick them both up and get to work. "What's with the scar?" You ask, brushing over your own upper lip.

"It got cut." She replies nonchalantly.

"Not one for words, are we?" You hand her the chocolate and the change.

She slides the change back, "Keep it. Words I can do, stories I cannot. Especially not mine."

"It is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma, but perhaps there is a key." You recite the words from memory. She smiles that warm smile of hers.

"I am the 'it'?"

"Damned if it be me." She shakes her head in disbelief.

"Good night, love." That word, it warms you. Though she doesn't know your name, she has given you a title.

"Good night."

"And just so you know, there is no key."

And with those words she leaves you hoping, praying that the next day she will return.

* * *

**Regina**

You go back to meet her again. And again. And again.

It has become a routine of yours. You honestly cannot think of doing anything else but that. She tells you she has picked up the weekend shifts too. Tells you how her boss thought she had gone mad, but the guy she replaced had hugged her for what felt like forever. She hasn't travelled a lot, hasn't seen much of anything, but her stories are always captivating, interesting. And she always seems to have one.

You don't notice until later, but your visiting time has also lengthened. What used to be a mere visit of a few minutes stretched into a half an hour and then an hour. You wonder how long it will take to become two. Not long you suppose.

She always has things to keep you entertained. Sometimes it stories, sometimes its games, sometimes it's just two of you sitting on the counter-top eating the food you have just purchased. Sometimes it is her reading her favourite books out loud to you (which almost always includes 'The Dresden Files' series). A few times she sneaks a movie in, a hand always on the keyboard ready to change the channel back to CCTV in case some customer walks in. They hardly ever do. One day though there is a guitar placed behind her.

"I thought I would sing something for you today."

You stand there dazed. This girl who once called you a riddle isn't shy from being one herself. A riddle who unravels herself for you. To whom you give nothing in return, and she never asks. You nod and make your way to the aisles, picking up tiny packets of food and a couple of cans of coke. Once you two go through that routine, you walk around to the other side of the counter and place yourself on it. She sits on the chair, the guitar resting on her legs. Her fingers place themselves over the strings and you wonder how such delicate hands will play such a hard instrument.

She starts to play, and it takes you a while to recognize the song. You had only ever heard the original version. Her fingers flow over the strings. And then she sings. Only one word comes to mind: mellifluous. It's entrancing, powerful, and soulful. A voice that resonates in your heart and mind. You close your eyes and let the voice combined with the words of 'Old Skin' wash over you.

She ends the song and you wait for the residual sounds of the guitar to vanish. You open your eyes, and see that she is looking expectantly at you.

"It was beautiful." You don't know if you can give her anything better, so you put all your emotion into the three words. She senses that, and thanks you. She places the guitar back, the two of you settling into another contented silence. "You have to sing for me again someday."

She gulps down a mouthful of coke and nods. "Maybe one day I will sing one of my original compositions to you."

You smile, wide and – for some reason – proud. And here you thought you were the prodigy.

Despite you telling her countless times that the repeated pattern of time spent together has not - in even the slightest - gotten boring, she refuses to accept it. She now has a new hobby – teaching you how to handle a convenience store. You have learned almost everything there is to about delivery, shifts, inventory, laws, precautions and things that you will never bother with. But it keeps the time going and definitely keeps her satisfied. Not like you have anything better to contribute anyways.

It is your final day as a student, she announces. If you can get down the art of tilling and billing, you will be a full-fledge convenience store master.

She is sitting on the counter beside you, telling you how to work the machine. You can't believe she has you tilling your own purchases.

"Can I ask you something?" There is uncertainty in her voice, and a little bit of fear.

"Sure." You say as you start putting things in your backpack.

She tucks loose hair behind her left ear, her other hand fidgeting with the hem of the shirt. It has got you worried now. "Why won't you tell me your name?" A beat. "And why won't you ask mine?"

You place your palms on the counter, and pivot back and forth on your heels. You debate if you should tell her. For more than three months now, she has told you little details about herself, and you have given her nothing. And now, are you ready to give her back something, which for you, is bigger deal that she could possibly imagine. You can still see her playing with her shirt, a nervous expression donning her face. You stop pivoting, and lean on your arms, your head drooped.

"Because it hurts less."

"I – I don't understand."

"When I was nine, my parents died in a car accident. I and my little sister were adopted by my dad's best friend. Oh they were such nice people. When I was twelve, my sister died. We were playing in the tree house and it just … collapsed. That is how I got this scar." An angry huff escapes you. "Can you even imagine? I leave with a scar and she leaves. Gone. It wasn't even a year when my foster mother died of a heart-attack. Papa couldn't bear the thought of having lost my sister and mother in less than a year. Doctor's said he had lost his will to live. In a matter on 4 years I lost everyone I held dear. And those are just the deaths I am telling you about. Oh how many times people I have loved have moved on from me."

"I still don't understand."

You straighten yourself and face her. "That is how I protect myself. The first time I met you, I felt a pull towards you. I wanted to know all about you, ask your name, talk about endless and useless topics."

"Then why didn't you?" Her words have an edge to them.

"Because nothing is permanent. Names can get etched into your brain forever. You can always place a face to it. Just a face though, it fades away and becomes a distant memory in your brain, not triggered by anything." You run your hands along your face in frustration. "Don't you get it? How sure are you that this thing we have is going to last?"

"I don't know. But that is no excuse." Anger emanates from her.

"No it's not. But I am done getting hurt. Can you understand that?"

"So you would rather live your whole life alone?"

"Yes. Maybe." You calm yourself a little. "Or until I am ready to be hurt again."

Her voice drops to almost a whisper, "You don't necessarily have to get hurt."

Tears well in your eyes. You blink them away. Her hands wipes them away. "I know. But I am not ready to tread those waters yet. I am sorry. I should never have let this get so far." You pick up your bag and drape the strap over one shoulder. "I should really get going. It's getting late." You squeeze past her. "I'm so sorry, love."

"Emma." You stop dead in your tracks. "My name's Emma. And I am not going anywhere."

Your hands latch onto the bags strap. You close your eyes and repeat the name in your mind.

_Emma. Emma. Emma._

It suits her. You smile, sadness filling you from the inside out. You turn to her anxious self, slowly closing the gap between you two. You have never stood so close to her that you have felt her breath on your skin, been able to see every line and crease on her forehead. Never close enough to kiss her.

Your lips meet hers. You don't press and neither does she. Your one hand holds onto her neck, the other her hip. She applies slight pressure on your lips, and you return it. The kiss is chaste and brimming with emotion. You want to keep kissing her forever. Then again you can't.

Just. Fucking. Can't.

You pull back. "Please." She begs, wild tears streaming down her face. "Please don't."

"I'm sorry. Sorry. So Sorry." Your words are barely audible, even to you. You let both your hands drop abruptly, turn and run out of the store with all the strength you can muster, afraid she might run after you if you are not fast enough.

* * *

_**Emma** _

She doesn't return.

And each day that she doesn't that little smidgen of hope gets wiped out further.

Until one day it is no more.

Until one day when all is left is the imprinted taste of a nameless face on your lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The song 'Old Skin (ft. Arnor Dan)' is by Olafur Arnalds from his album called 'For Now I Am Winter.' It is an absolute necessity that you listen to the whole album. That man makes gorgeous music.
> 
> \- 'The Dresden Files' is a book series by Jim Butcher, that I must insist as insistently as possible HAS to be read. 14 in the series so far. 15th comes out soon.


	3. Nazlanmak

**Nazlanmak /nahz-lahn-mahk/:** _**pretending reluctance or indifference when you're actually willing or eager.** _

_They are 20 and 23 years old._

* * *

_**Emma** _

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 – turn.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 – turn.

And repeat. Until you can't take it anymore.

"Dad just stop pacing."

"I'm worried Emma." His pacing doesn't stop

"So am I, but I am not causing obvious grievance to anyone."

"That doesn't make sense."

You shrug. "It sounded nice." You watch him pace a little longer. When you are sure he will never stop, you get up to stand in his way. He stops. You place your hands on his shoulders. "Dad seriously. Stop. It will all be fine. And anyways, they are just doing some tests right now. Save it for the actual surgery."

He smiles at you, places a kiss on your forehead and finally takes a seat. You sit beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. The two of you sit there for almost an hour, before the nurse gives you the green signal to go to your mom's room. You tell your dad you will grab some coffee before heading to the room. He kisses you on the forehead again before making his way to the lift.

You pick up your book (which is obviously the latest in 'The Dresden Files' series) and start walking towards the coffee cart you saw on the ground floor. You almost trip around three to four times on the stairs due to lack to attention. You also almost bang yourself into the cart, but stop yourself just a few steps short.

"Are you going to order something?"

"Ahh, coffee." You reply without lifting your eyes of the book.

"Plain coffee?"

"Huh?" You tear your eyes away from the book to look at the barista.

"What kind of coffee do you want?" She punctuates every word.  _Somebody is in a foul mood._

"A latte, please and thank you." You don't bother hiding your own annoyance. You lean against the stairwell railing, engrossed in your book once again.

"Here ya go Doc. Do you want something else?" You pause your reading to see who in the world triggered this sudden change of tone in the barista. Your grip on the book tightens, your breathe hitching repeatedly. You feel weak, an abrupt headache present.

You lean further into the rail, ignoring the pain in your back. Oh heavens, do you need all the support in the world right now.

Its clichéd, overused and outright ridiculous – but it happens. The world around you slows down, it blurs to a mere nothing and you find yourself back in the convenience store. Her lips on yours, the empty feeling after, you on your knees crying your heart out and no one to offer you a tissue box. Your wish there was someone to hold your heart. It just feels  **so heavy.**

You weaken, collapsing to the floor. With an arm stretched she hurries towards you. Her touch sends a shock through your body, and you slap it away. "Don't touch me."

There are tears in her eyes. Good. You want her to cry. You suddenly desire to cause her some more pain. She tries to reach you again.

"I said DON'T." You load the words with anger, pain, suffering, heartache and spit them out at her.

"Emma please." She doesn't reach out again.

"O don't you dare say my name. You. Have. No. Right." The muscles in your face are tense, and discomforting. She is crying now. Everyone around is looking at this spectacle, not completely stopping but not entirely moving along. She looks at you with the softest of expressions, yours the complete opposite. "And please, oh I beg you please, do cry some more."

Her eyes on the ground, a darkness spreads across her face. She doesn't even chance a glance at you after. She just leaves.  _Typical._

You breathe again.

* * *

_**Regina** _

No matter how much you try, you can't seem to be able to focus on anything. You have retreated into one of the on-call rooms. You attempt to rest. You fail. Every time you close your eyes you can see her face. So full of malice and rage. Her words have wounded you. You deserved them though, didn't you?

Many a times you had imagined something like this happening, in case this world was cruel enough to bring you two face to face again. You had imagined a million scenarios, and emotions running astray. Never for a second had you imagined the true weight of the grief you had cast upon her. What did you think you were doing all those years ago? Dragging it along when you knew it could never go anywhere.

Yes, you did deserve it.

Your pager beeps again. You ignore it. You lie still on the bed, counting every breath just to give you something else to do. There is a knock on the door.

"Dr. Mills, are you in there?"

"Yes." You make no effort to move.

"You are needed in room 209."

"Tell them to find someone else. I'm not feeling too well."

"Dr. Scott has specifically asked for you."

You huff. "Alright fine. Tell him I will be there."

It's a struggle to get yourself off the bed and into motion. You stroll towards the room on the lower floor. Dr. Scott can wait a little longer. As you cross the room, you see him chatting to the patient. A figure sits hunched in the corner, head hanging low, reading a book.  _Oh shit!_ You try to sneak past the room but Dr. Scott turns at the last possible moment and catches you.

"Ah Dr. Mills. You are finally here." You want to slap the pleasantry out of him. With your hands tucked inside your coat pocket, you walk inside and stand beside him. He places a hand around your shoulders and you suppress an urge to kick him in the shins.

"This right here," he says, patting the side of your arm, "is our prodigal wonder." You avert your eyes from Emma and give the couple a smile. They don't return it. You don't blame them. No one wants a 23 year old operating on you. No matter how intelligent you are. Patients always have their reservations about your age.

Even Dr. Scott knows this, so he continues, "I know what you are thinking. Such a young doctor and you don't feel too good about this. But please let me assure you," he moves his other arm to place it over his chest, "that she is as good as any. I give you my  **personal** guarantee that there is no problem here at all." The couple smiles politely at you two, not wholly reassured.

"So this is Dr. Regina Mills, and Doctor this is your patient Mrs. Mary Margaret Swan and her husband Mr. David Swan." You don't care about their names, and you shift your eyes once more to look at Emma.

Mr. Something Swan must have noticed it, "Ah that, Dr. Mills, is my daughter – Emma. She gets a little too immersed in a book sometimes." His smile is more genuine, and you see where Emma gets her softness from.

"Ah alright then. Now that you have met, I will forward your test details to Dr. Mills here, and we will try to put you up on board as soon as possible. Do you have any questions?" He looks between the couple and they shake their heads. "Very well then, we should get going."

His arm finally drops from your shoulder and with one last look at Emma – who hasn't even remotely looked at you – you walk out behind him.

He hands you the files, and you ask him if someone else can take the case. He refuses. The jerk that he is. He even asks you to follow up later and see her through the recovery process. You stare daggers at him, but he remains unfazed, gives you another pat on the back and leaves. You thump your forehead on the counter a couple of times and let it rest there.

You hear her whisper in your ear, "Karma is a bitch, isn't it." And then she is gone.

You dare not lift your head in fear that people might see your tears.

* * *

_**Emma** _

It's the day of your mom's surgery. Your dad decides to wait it out in the waiting room, leaving you in your mom's hospital room. There is a knock at the door and she walks in. You know her name now, but you do not wish to think it – ever.

"I'm – I'm sorry. I thought your father –"

"In the waiting room." You state, faking detachment. In reality, you are dying to talk to her. Have  **her** be the one to tell you how the operation went and what you can do to help your mother.

"Right, yes." She clears her throat. "Sorry." She leaves, closing the door.

You press the book to your face. "Arrgghh. What the fuck!"

They get your mom to the room about ten minutes later. She is still heavily sedated. Your dad tells you that her recovery will take a month and that they plan to keep her there for at least two to three weeks. He also tells you that  **Dr. Mills** will be the one over seeing her recovery. What was it that Dresden said? Ah yes  _'_ _Hell's bells, irony blows.'_

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

You see her every damn day. Can you imagine the torture? The need to talk to her yet not willing to. The want to look at her yet afraid she might catch you. Your eagerness to ask her if she is ready now? Yet you don't, for you know that she will say the word that you do not wish to hear.

A week goes by in this place that you have deemed your own personal purgatory. Then you do something that you shouldn't have. You flirt your way into acquiring her home address.

For the next nine days, you stand in front of her door, your palms and forehead pressed to it. You listen to everything – the music, the TV, the sound of her feet, the cooking noises – everything. But not her voice.

You stand there for hours, bearing the awful pain that she is just a knock away. You despise yourself for being so mean to her, once you realize how really alone she is. But none of it gives you enough courage to lift your hand for a knock.

One day you thump your forehead a little too hard on the door.

"Who is it?" You hear her ask.

"Oh shit. Oh shit." You whisper as you make a run for the stairs. You stop on the floor below, relaxing yourself against the wall. When you hear her door click shut, you slump to the floor and bury your head between your knees as you silently start to weep.

There is a tap on your shoulder, "Want some tissues?"

You lift your head and see a tissue box in front of you. An involuntary laugh escapes your lips. You take a few and thank her. She nods and does not move her eyes from you as you wipe away the tears and snot.

"Hi." She says once you are done cleaning up.

"Hey." She sits down beside you.

The silence returns. You don't stop watching your tissue-fidgeting hands. She doesn't stop watching at you. There is so much you need to say to her but no words said at that very moment would seem right. She stops your fiddling with her hand. The touch causes you to take a sharp breath.

"Why are you here Emma?"

"Regina." You whisper. Her name sounds both familiar and foreign on your tongue. You turn your body to face her, your entwined hands now resting on your knees. There is glint of happiness in her eyes. It warms you and gives you the courage to ask her what you need to. "First of all, I'm sorry I should never have –"

"Don't apologise." She says cutting you off. "I very much deserved it."

"No you did not. Ok maybe a little." She chuckles. "But I'm still sorry. Please accept it."

"If it makes you feel better. I accept your apology Emma Swan."

"Thank you. There is one more thing." She nods, urging you on. "You said to me - you told me - you said –"

"Yes I understand that part."

You glare at her, she grins at you. You take a deep breath and prepare your words. "You said that one day you will be ready –"

"I'm leaving."

You arch a brow at her in utter disbelief "NOW? That's rude. To just leave like that when someone is talking to you."

She shakes her head. "No Emma. I'm  **leaving.** "

Your head drops, your gaze going back to your entwined fingers. "Oh." You wait a couple of beats. "I was wondering when that was going to happen."

"Your mom's recovery is almost done. She doesn't need me to see it through. I can't stay, love. You know I can't." Fresh tears spill from your eyes. She wipes them away with her thumb.

"I know." You murmur. "I know."

She lifts your head with her finger. "Look at me." You oblige. "You are beautiful Emma. Inside and out. And I just know you can do so much better. Remember what I told you when we first met. I am not worth your tears."

You shake your head over and over as you hear her say these words. "I don't want to do better. I – I love you." You seem to have shattered her with your words. You see her world crumbling down. "Regina please, you don't have to be alone." Your words are desperate and urgent.

She smiles at you and traces your lower lip with her finger. You close your eyes and let the sensation of her touch wash over you. You open your eyes to a kiss just like a whisper and watch her fingers slip out of yours as she, once again, walks away from you.

You can't trust yourself to move. You sit there until you can.

You fail to notice the box on the floor where she sat. A little chit under it has your name on it. With trembling hands you pick it up and open it. There are two items in it, each with a note of its own.

You pick up the ring. It has a green stone on it, maybe an emerald. The note says:  _You have given me so much that nothing can replace it. I have been unfair in that way. And I cannot think of a better way to return the favour, except with this ring. It belonged to my mother. She wore it because she was told it will bring her love. Maybe for that reason she gave it to me. But you deserve it more than I do. Keep it close._

Your hands are shaking erratically now. It takes you a few minutes to compose yourself enough to open the second note. It is accompanied with a little silver pendant, which has a swan engraved into it. The note is short – _you are grace, you are beauty, you are poetry - much like this pendant. Stay strong, my love. And try to forgive me._

Suddenly you are filled with adrenaline. You run up to her apartment and bang at the door. There is no answer. "Regina, open the damn door." She doesn't. Her neighbour informs you that she just left – with luggage. You ask her from where, and she points to the lift. You curse yourself and run down the flight of stairs. When you exit the building you see her getting into a cab.

Maybe she got the feeling that someone was watching her, or maybe she knew you were there. Whichever it was, right before closing the door, she turns to you. Before you can move a muscle, she smiles and closes the door.

You stand paralysed, staring into an empty nothing, long after the she is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So this is the second last chapter. The pendant I am talking about it the one JMo wears in the show. You can find it on pyrrha (just to ogle over, cause its for 160$. yep im in shock too :P)
> 
> This chapter is also very very very and i assure you i can not stress enough how VERY heavily influenced it is by all those heartbreaking songs by Sara Bareilles.


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